


Sugar

by thbrkdwn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Motorcycles, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, bucky has a hopeless crush on steeb, steve wearing bucky’s leather jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thbrkdwn/pseuds/thbrkdwn
Summary: Bucky’s sweet on the pretty blue-eyed cashier who works last shift most days at Donnelly’s.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s nighttime in mid-October and the air seems to get cooler by the day, the weather getting more unpredictable. Bucky’s in the office of his da’s auto shop that he actually manages more often than not anyway, sorting out customer records when the jarring sound of raindrops ricocheting loudly off the metal roof of the garage out front indicates that it’s started drizzling.

 _Damn_ , he thinks. He was planning to take the motorcycle for a spin before heading home, but he’s learned it the hard way that the rain’s only gonna get heavier from here. He’d walk then, and might as well leave now, while it’s still mellow. Much as he doesn’t particularly mind getting covered in mud from biking in the rain he’s sure his ma would kick up a fuss if he tracked it into the house. He grabs the garage keys and his leather jacket slung over the back of a chair and is halfway out the door when he doubles back to grab an umbrella too. His ma would fuss, anyhow, if he went home drenched and tracked water everywhere.

Bucky locks up Barnes’ Speed Shop and trudges to Mr Donnelly’s little drugstore at a street corner on Vinegar Hill as the rain, sure enough, starts beating down harder. Hell, it’s barely fall and Bucky can already feel the cold beginning to seep through his worn leather jacket.

The door jingles as Bucky steps into Donnelly’s and it’s so much warmer in here than it is outside – bless the surprisingly effective radiator in the store. The cashier ducks out from where he was puttering about doing whatever under the counter. Bucky smiles as he recognises Steve, who usually works the latest shift. By now, old Mr Donnelly trusted him enough to close up shop and just clocked out earlier in the evening most of the time.

Bucky might also be willing to admit that a large part of the reason why he frequents the drugstore at night was because he was kind of sweet on Steve Rogers, a tiny fella with the prettiest baby blues, a stubborn jut to his chin, and one hell of an attitude. Granted, they haven’t made more than casual conversation, but he was easy on the eyes and as if Bucky could help that he felt kind of like a foolish blushing schoolgirl around him. “Hey, Steve, how’s it going?” Bucky says.

“Hi Bucky, we’re closing, actually,” Steve replies, sounding slightly apologetic.

“Can I just pick up some cigarettes real quick? Please?” Bucky says.

“Fine, it better be quick though,” Steve says, quirking a small half-smile. If Bucky thinks it’s cute, he sure as hell doesn’t say nothing.

“It’s really pourin’ out there,” Bucky comments, looking out the window as he walks towards the counter so Steve can ring up his Lucky Strikes. “You bring an umbrella?”

Steve takes the twenty-five cents Bucky hands him. “No, didn’t think the weather would be this bad,” he says, “I’ll be fine though, I live just a couple blocks down the street. I guess we got some old newspapers I can use.” He tips his chin in the direction of said newspapers.

Bucky kind of looked at Steve like he was an idiot, because he was. “What the hell, those ain’t gonna do shit to shelter you from the rain.” He bites his lip, hesitates. “Tell you what, I’ll walk you home,” he offers, hoping nothing gives away how irrationally nervous he suddenly is. 

Steve smiles at him again. Bucky thinks it’s precious. “Thanks Bucky, but I’ll be okay.” On second thought, he was also kind of dumb.

“C’mon, it’s really no trouble. You’ll catch your death walking home in this weather,” Bucky insists. He’s kind of nonsensically afraid Steve will say no again.

But he doesn’t. “Fine, just let me lock up first,” Steve concedes, fishing the keys out from under the counter.

While Steve pulls the shutters closed and locks up, Bucky tries and fails not to fidget, shifting his weight from foot to foot, restlessly running his hand through his hair, which is messy by now from work anyway and greasy with pomade. How he can keep his cool and talk smooth to all the pretty girls but gets all flustered at the prospect of something as innocent and simple as walking Steve Rogers home after work is utterly beyond him.

They start in the direction of Steve’s tenement building, huddled under Bucky’s umbrella, shoulders brushing with the close proximity they have to be in to get any sort of shelter.

Steve’s already shivering a couple moments after they start walking, even with his jacket. Bucky stops and nudges Steve. “Here, hold this a second,” Bucky says, passing him the umbrella, and Steve’s brow furrows in confusion but he takes it anyway. Bucky shrugs off his jacket, tries to act casual as he wraps the jacket around Steve’s shoulders and pats it down so it settled snugly against him, and can’t help but grin at the sight of tiny Steve Rogers positively swallowed up by his favourite leather jacket.

“Bucky, I don’t –” Steve’s attempt at protesting wasn’t all that convincing, truth be told, given how Bucky could tell he was trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

“Hush, Rogers, I know you’re shivering. Let’s go,” Bucky cuts him off, still grinning, and takes the umbrella from Steve’s hands. He resists the urge to put an arm around Steve like he does his dates when he walks them home. Steve’s frowning, looking a bit like an angry kitten, and Bucky’s eyes flick down to his slightly pouted mouth, momentarily distracted by the fullness of his red bottom lip. He makes himself snap out of it, says instead, “Quit tryna argue with me, you’re cold, take the jacket.”

Steve looks like he wants to protest more, but doesn’t.

When they get to Steve’s tenement building, Steve makes as if to take off his jacket. “Hey, keep it first, you can return it to me some other day,” Bucky says. He looks down, then back to Steve. “’Sides,” he adds stupidly, “looks better on you.” He maybe says it too quickly to pass off as offhand, and his heart’s beating just a little faster. It’s true, Bucky really really likes the idea of Steve wearing his jacket, but fuck if he knows what possessed him to try and flirt like that. Jesus, the poor guy probably doesn’t even like fellas.

Bucky thinks he sees a faint flush rising on Steve’s cheeks, but he’s not sure if he’s mistaken because of the dim lights. If he realises Bucky’s coming onto him, he doesn’t seem offended by it or anything. Standing this close, Bucky can see the faint smatter of freckles across Steve’s nose and cheekbones, his thick eyelashes long and fluttery like a dame’s – things he’d never had a chance to notice before. Hell, but Steve was adorable. Bucky wants to kiss those freckles, and maybe his red lips, slightly chapped but lush and kissable nonetheless.

Steve’s wearing that small half-smile again and doesn’t quite look Bucky in the eye when he says, “Um, thanks. And for walking me home. I’ll, uh, I’ll. Return this to you tomorrow, when I see you. I mean, if I, uh, see you, or something.” The flush on his cheeks deepens and he ducks his head.

“No worries, I’ll pop by the drugstore tomorrow, maybe?” Bucky puts his free hand into his pocket and resolutely does not do something completely stupid like tip Steve’s chin up and stroke his thumb across the tempting swell of his bottom lip.

“Yeah, sure. See you ‘round, Bucky. Um, see you soon,” Steve says, tripping over his words a little. God, but he’s shy all of a sudden. Bucky absently lets himself entertain the idea that his piss-poor attempt at flirting made Steve nervous too.

“See ya, Steve. Go on up or you’ll catch a cold out here.” He stands there in the rain like a dork until Steve enters the building. 

As he continues on his walk home, Bucky reflects that this is the longest interaction he’d ever had with Steve. Bless the horrible fucking weather, in spite of which he still felt all warm and tingly inside, like a girl home from her first date with the memory of a goodnight kiss soft on her lips.

Bucky then also reflects that he is utterly hopeless. For Steve Rogers, no less, a fella about whom he knows, honestly, not all that much. This is what Bucky Barnes knows about Steve Rogers: he knows Steve was in the grade below him back in school. He knows Steve got sick real often and had a list of ailments the length of the East River, and as a result missed something like a third of a semester at a time. He (and pretty much everyone this side of Navy Yard) knows Steve Rogers picks fights with anybody he feels needed to get put in their places, never mind if they’re three times his size. Steve sticks up for the little guys, despite being one of the littlest guys himself. In other words, he’s a stubborn punk who doesn’t know when to let things be and has no sense of self-preservation.

And because Bucky is utterly hopeless, he finds it unbearably endearing.

He knows Steve has the dreamiest eyes he’s ever seen – and, dreamiest, really? Bucky scoffs a little at himself. If he’s not careful he’ll start doing stupid things like swoon, or start spending every free moment mooning over the cute dusting of freckles on his nose, so faint you’d miss them unless you were standing close like Bucky was tonight (there it is again, that warm tingly feeling, when he remembers the way Steve looked up at him, cheeks pink from Bucky’s aforementioned piss-poor flirting attempt, or more realistically, the cold), his blond hair that falls into his face and skims the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, and his red, red lips – God, that soft lower lip that Bucky wants so badly to bite.

All this, plus a couple conversations and a walk home in the rain, and Bucky’s already so gone on him it’s not even funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello so this is my first work and ¿ idk what i’m doing but i mean i’m having fun writing this fic so !! 
> 
> took some liberties with the weather tbh bc i wanted a! walk! in! the! rain! but i didn’t want a summer thunderstorm i wanted Cold but then also not snowy cold so this is what happened. i made an Attempt to look up the weather in brooklyn but alas i don’t live there, rip. 
> 
> also i’m Hoping i can finish this maybe in the next few days or so but We Will See.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky takes Steve for a ride.

For all that it rained yesterday, today Bucky’s sweating in just his shirtsleeves by evening, as he changes the brake fluid on the driver’s front brake of a red Ford F-2 pickup. He’s just finishing up when he sees Steve, of all people, walking through the garage sort of uncertainly with Bucky’s leather jacket over one arm. “Hi, Bucky. I forgot yesterday that I, uh, I’m not taking the late shift at the store today, and – well, thought I’d drop by to return you this.”

Bucky stands up too quickly, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. He’s suddenly all too aware of how he’s covered in sweat and grease from the day’s work.

“Steve,” Bucky says in greeting, wide grin spreading on his face when he takes Steve in. “I’m just about done, actually. Hey, hold on to that for me a second, would ya? I’m all dirty.” Steve nods, and Bucky goes to the sink at the back of the garage and splashes water on his face and arms, trying to get off the worst of the stains.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m gonna clock out, okay?” Barton calls to him. The rest of the workers had already left a couple minutes ago, but Barton always stayed until he finished whatever he was doing at the moment, said it felt weird otherwise.

“Sure, bye!” Bucky yells back. He makes his way back over to Steve, who’s leaning against the side of the Ford and looking pretty as hell with his hair falling over his eyes like it always does.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky starts. Steve looks up at the sound of his voice. Bucky hesitates, momentarily flustered by Steve’s eyes on him and also just generally flustered by Steve’s presence. “Since you’re not working now, and um. I mean, if you’re free, do you wanna grab dinner with me?” Friends can go out for dinner, right? Granted, they were more like acquaintances, but maybe after last night they could be considered friends? Bucky’s cheeks go hot, and he sticks his hands in his pockets for lack of something to do with them. He swears asking dames on dates was always way easier than this, and Bucky Barnes sure didn’t _fumble_.

“Sure, I’d like that,” Steve says, and his eyes flick up to meet Bucky’s and down again with a smile that seemed almost shy. Bucky just about melted.

“C’mon, we’ll take my bike.” He doesn’t have to admit to anyone that he maybe secretly likes the idea of Steve behind him on his bike, arms around his waist.

“What?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! I was planning to take her out last night, but, y’know. It was raining. As you, uh, know. Because... yeah,” Bucky concludes lamely. He swears that the day he manages to get through a conversation with Steve Rogers whilst maintaining full coherence will be the day he transcends the boundaries of nature itself.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve looks faintly amused.

Bucky takes Steve to the front of the garage where his 1946 Harley-Davidson FL’s parked. It was his baby, the light of his life; he’d gotten it secondhand then fixed it up himself and was damn proud of it too. Steve’s eyes widen slightly – whether it’s because he’s impressed or scared, Bucky can’t tell. He gets the bike out front and locks up the garage.

“Helmet,” he says, not even bothering to pass it to Steve but instead just puts it on for him, adjusting the straps so it fit. A hint of that angry-kitten look appears on Steve’s face in response to being babied like that, but he doesn’t say anything. “You can have my jacket. I’m used to riding without one,” Bucky grins as the adorable angry-kitten look deepens, but Steve puts it on anyway without complaint. It’s a day of miracles.

Bucky fastens his own helmet. He lets himself drink in the sight of the prettiest boy he knows, sitting on the back of his bike. This is the stuff dreams are made of, he swears. He doubts there’s anything he’ll ever enjoy the look of more than Steve Rogers on his Harley, wearing his leather jacket.

Then without his permission his mind abruptly pictures Steve Rogers not wearing _anything_ , like it was helpfully supplying images that Bucky might like more. He breathes in sharply then, chest constricting. His mind then conjures up an image of Steve Rogers, on his motorcycle, not wearing anything, like one of those pin-up pictures, and _what the actual fuck where the fuck did that come from_. He cannot be thinking stuff like that when the guy’s literally right next to him, Jesus _fuck_. He takes a steadying breath to compose himself as he flushes red, the front of his jeans starting to feel tighter as his cock begins to fill at that mental image.

He gets on the bike in a bit of a hurry and hopes Steve didn’t notice anything. “Uh, so you can, um. Put your arms around my waist. Hold on tight.” Steve does, and his hands settle on Bucky’s abdomen, one delicate wrist in his other hand for a secure grip. This is such a bad idea, oh god, Bucky thinks, pulse quickening as he feels the touch of Steve’s fingertips through his shirt. He blinks. Tries to focus.

Bucky doesn’t go as fast as he would if he were alone, or when he was out with his greaser-type friends (Steve is not a greaser-type friend, not by a long shot), but it’s fast enough to feel wind whipping his face. He’d feel exhilarated if he wasn’t still feeling hot under the collar, Steve’s hands on him and soft breath tickling the nape of his neck.

He almost gasps when Steve repositions his hands so they settle on his belt, and leans his head against Bucky’s back, which is just about the softest thing ever. So Bucky’s suddenly filled with a fondness for Steve that’s so gentle it startles him. The disastrous combination of lust and whatever this is feels overwhelming, to say the least.

For fuck’s sake, how’s he supposed to sit through dinner with Steve when all he wants is to kiss his mouth and – maybe other parts of his body, now isn’t that a thought. He starts to wonder if Steve has freckles all over, or if it’s just his nose and cheeks.

By the time they get to Mel’s 24-Hour Diner Bucky’s thankfully worked his way down to half-hard, and while Steve removes his helmet he puts his hand in his pocket to adjust himself in a way that he hopes is subtle. They get a booth in the corner of the diner, now fairly empty because the dinner rush’s mostly over.

Over milkshakes and dubiously limp burgers, Bucky learns that Steve’s birthday is on the Fourth, and that he’s an artist ( _not an artist_ , Bucky, Steve protests, _I_ _just_ _draw_ a _bit_ _here_ _and_ _there_ ), that he used to take night art classes at the community centre sometimes, that he’s saving up money so that he can take classes at Brooklyn College. He tells Bucky that he did the shop sign out front at Donnelly’s, and a couple others around the neighbourhood.

“That’s swell, Steve. It looks real good,” Bucky says, recalling the swirling typography and blue-green-yellow colour palette.

“Two bucks says you don’t even really remember how it looks,” Steve says, but he’s smiling when he does.

“Do too, you know I go there most every other day, and I ain’t blind,” Bucky says, and Steve makes a face, but he looks secretly pleased. Then Steve takes a sip of his milkshake, and Bucky’s distracted by his damn mouth again, wrapping around the straw. Bucky violently tamps down thoughts of those lips wrapping around other things. In any case, he thinks he might have a fixation.

They end up talking more than Bucky expected, and he is getting closer to being more coherent than nervous and stuttering. Any day now.

——

An hour or so later he’s stopped his bike right by Steve’s tenement building, just about to say goodbye when Steve’s eyes rove over his face like he _knows_ something.

Then Steve says, “Bucky, hey, you seem like a real nice fella, so what the hell, let me ask you something.”

Bucky’s hit with a small jolt of anxiety. Fuck, what does Steve know? Bucky hasn’t exactly been the most subtle, no matter how he tries to convince himself that he is. Hell, he’s been restless and at least half-hard the whole evening, he’d be surprised if Steve hadn’t picked up on anything.

He hopes and prays to high heaven that if Steve’s gonna let him down he’ll let him down easy. Steve didn’t seem offended when Bucky flirted with him last night, even agreed to go out with him tonight, so he probably wouldn’t try to punch his lights out if he knew the way Bucky wanted him, right?

Damn it all, the motorcycle ride was a terrible idea. Bucky desperately wishes he could go back to when his attraction towards Steve was more innocent, before his out-of-control imagination came up with mental images of Steve naked and he felt like he was punched in the face with how much he wants him, Jesus. Remember when all he wanted was to put an arm around Steve as he walked him home? Yeah, him neither.

“Um. Yeah, anything.”

Steve turns to check both sides of the street, but seeing as it’s pretty late there’s no one around. He looks up at Bucky through his lashes. “Say, you wouldn’t take it the wrong way if I kissed you right now, would you?”

Bucky stares at him, jaw dropping in shock, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “I – uh,” he contributes eloquently.

“You gotta tell me now if you don’t want me to,” Steve says, and stands on tiptoes so he can reach where Bucky’s still seated on his bike, “because if not, I’m gonna.” His hand cups the back of Bucky’s neck, which was probably just as flushed as his face. Steve pulls Bucky down, leans in slow enough that Bucky could say no if he wanted – as if he was going to do that.

“Ah, what the hell,” Bucky says, and reaches one hand to hold Steve’s jaw as they meet each other halfway. Steve’s lips are soft and taste of strawberry, like the milkshake he was drinking earlier.

He hasn’t fully worked through the incredulity of the situation yet, that Steve’s kissing him – before this moment he didn’t even think Steve liked fellas. He tossed it to the back of his mind, figuring he’d have all the time to process later; right now he just wants to kiss the hell out of Steve.

His other hand bunches in his the soft leather of his own jacket that Steve still had on, and fuck if that didn’t do things to him. Steve coaxes his mouth open and suckles on his tongue teasingly. Fuck, but the fella had one hell of a mouth on him, Bucky could hardly stand it.

The kiss turns deeper, meaner, almost bruising as Bucky channels all the tension built up in him throughout the whole of the evening into it. He bites into that lush lower lip like he’s been wanting to since even when his thoughts about Steve were considerably more innocent, and gets a breathy moan for his effort. Bucky’s cock twitches, beginning to thicken up in his pants again.

Bucky pulls Steve closer, still nipping and sucking at his lower lip. He lets go of the jacket to trail his hand over Steve’s neck, his chest, his tiny waist, wanting so desperately to touch all of him. Steve presses closer still, places a hand on Bucky’s inner thigh. He slides his hand towards the obvious bulge at Bucky’s crotch, putting in just the slightest hint of pressure. Bucky sort of growls into Steve’s mouth, canting his hips forward.

That’s when Steve pulls back, hand settling back on Bucky’s thigh. His face is inches from Bucky’s, and he ducks in again for one last hard press of lips on lips and pulls away for real. He’s got this devious smile on his face, so different from the half-smile he always seems to wear, like he knows exactly the way he’s driving Bucky crazy, and his lips – oh god, his lips are red and swollen from kissing, a flush high on his cheekbones. Bucky’s so hard he’s aching.

“Thanks for today. And for the ride,” Steve says, giving Bucky’s thigh a squeeze. Bucky represses a shudder. Steve takes off the jacket and lays it over the backseat, then turns to walk towards his building.

“Wait, Steve.” Bucky catches his small wrist. “What did you mean when you asked if I’d take it the wrong way? What way was I supposed to take it?”

“Goodnight, Bucky, get home safe.” Steve leans in again, and Bucky holds his breath, but all Steve does is plant a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Damn if that doesn’t make Bucky want him even more, and he knows it too.

Steve turns and walks into the building, leaving Bucky gaping and slightly dazed, still sitting on his motorcycle on the side of the road. Talk about one hell of a goodnight kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) clint barton cameo  
> 2) steve takes initiative  
> 3) steve is a tease
> 
> that’s it that’s the chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! this is the third and final chapter! was gonna update yesterday but there was so much more to write than i expected oh boy i’m Hecking sorry but here it is now! :)

Two days later, Steve looks for Bucky again at the auto shop at closing time. He’d already closed up, and was organising the mess in the garage and back office that seems to build up startlingly quick no matter how often Bucky tried to arrange things.

Bucky stopped by Donnelly’s yesterday after work, but Steve wasn’t there. Did Steve change his working hours? It’d be a pity if he did; Bucky’s trips to the drugstore after work to pick up cigarettes and whatnot were usually the highlight of his otherwise relatively dull and uneventful workdays, because he’d get to see Steve, chat with him a bit.

But not finding Steve last night was especially disappointing because he hadn’t been able to get the previous night out of his mind at all, sitting on his bike on the street by Steve’s tenement, getting thoroughly kissed. Steve’s teasing touches had driven him half out of his mind. He’d taken a cold shower in an attempt to calm down, but even that was a temporary solution when he fell on his bed and his mind made him involuntarily relive the whole thing. Bucky had gotten all hot again, turning onto his stomach and pushed his hips against the mattress, biting his pillow when pleasure pulsed low in his abdomen.

So now he can’t help but recall the way he rubbed one out after Steve left him filled with want and frustration. A damn tease, was what he was.

“Steve, hi,” Bucky says, resolutely pushing those thoughts out of his mind. “You don’t work last shift anymore?”

“Donnelly’s son is back in town for a couple days, says he’ll help his pa with the shop while he’s here. Guess they don’t need me to stay until closing time.” Steve shrugs. “I go in earlier and work till ‘round five-thirty. Anyway, thought I’d come see you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky swallows and wipes his palms on his jeans. He backs into the work bench behind him.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, taking a step forward. “I figured you’d be closing up right about now.”

Fancy that, he used to stop by the drugstore after work, mainly in hopes of seeing the cute cashier working the latest shift, and now said cute cashier was in his auto shop looking for him – for the second time no less.

To be fair, the first time was technically to return Bucky the jacket that Bucky’d made him keep, but who’s counting?

Alright, so maybe Bucky had been hoping that’d give him another chance to talk to Steve for real, not just small talk, and it’d worked out nicely, hadn’t it? Nicer than he’d ever dared hope, to tell the truth. Bucky Barnes, a tactical genius.

“I figured, well,” Steve continues, pressing his little body right up against Bucky’s front, hands curling around Bucky’s hips, “we had some unfinished business. From the other night.” He nudges Bucky’s legs apart with his knee, thigh slotting in perfect. Bucky’s hands clutch at the top of the workbench behind him, white-knuckled.

“And whose fault was that, do you th-think?” Bucky shoots back, but it’s rendered not-so-effective when his breath catches on the last word, because Steve presses his lips to his neck and starts trailing kisses down the line of his throat.

Fuck, but Steve Rogers was a menace. How Bucky ever thought he was sweet and innocent is beyond him. The fella was downright _devilish_.

What really got him was that he can tell Steve’s all _shy_ , but still determined to get what he wants anyway. It drives Bucky crazy.

Steve looks up, and Bucky wants to kiss that saucy smile off his face. “All mine,” Steve shakes his head and grins. “So, I was thinking,” Steve continues – Bucky holds his breath – “do you wanna go for a drink with me?” Bucky’s head falls on Steve’s shoulder and he exhales in a whoosh.

“A drink,” Bucky repeats.

“Yes, a drink.” Steve knew exactly what he was _doing_ , damn him.

“Or we could do something else,” Bucky says, hand moving down the small of Steve’s back to his ass.

Steve catches his wrist. “Bucky Barnes, you dog,” he says, all reproachful, even as he bites his lip and pushes his hips forward. Bucky can’t _not_ lean in to steal a wet, dirty kiss when Steve looks like that – he can’t help himself. “Let’s go for a drink. Then we see where it goes from there, how ‘bout that?”

Bucky turns his head to mouth at Steve’s neck beneath his ear, groaning against his skin. “You know what? Fine. A drink,” he gives in.

——

Most folks in the area go to the Barrel, a ratty but cosy saloon a couple blocks from Mel’s Diner, but instead Steve takes Bucky down Water Street heading towards DUMBO, saying there was a place he liked there.

They stop outside the front of a bar with a signboard proclaiming “The Foxglove” out front in plain script.

The first thing Bucky registers when they enter is Rosemary Clooney’s velvety voice belting _Come On’a My House_ from a record player somewhere. The first thing he sees is two men making out a little ways away from where he was standing near the door. One’s older, with white in his hair, pressing a brunet up against the wall. Bucky’s jaw goes slack.

This is a queer bar. He’s never been to one before.

Sure, he’d thought about it back when he realised he liked fellas just as well as dames, knew there were these sorts of places around. He’d just... never gotten around to going to one. He didn’t peg Steve to be the type to. He let his eyes roam, taking it all in.

“You like?” Steve nudges him with a pointy elbow. He’s smiling, but Bucky can tell he looks a little unsure.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Bucky says, in awe still. Steve’s grin widens, the last traces of uncertainty leaving his face.

The bartender’s wiping down the counter when he sees them approach. “Steve-o! Haven’t seen you in a while.” His eyes land on Bucky and doesn’t bother trying to be subtle when he checks him out. “Ooh, I see you went out and snagged yourself a greaser. What’s your name, hot stuff?”

Bucky blinks.

Also, apparently Steve’s on a first name basis with the bartender here. Nickname basis, even. Huh. Steve’s just full of surprises.

“Hi, Sam. Bucky, this is Sam. Sam, Bucky,” Steve says.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

“He your fella?” Sam asks Steve.

“Maybe,” Steve replies. Immediately Bucky turns to look at him, but Steve’s looking forward.

“Maybe, huh,” Sam smirks, gives Bucky a once-over. “Well, sweetcheeks, if it doesn’t work out you can give me a call anytime. I like ‘em dirty.” Before either of them can respond, he continues, “I’m just playin’. You treat Steve right, ya hear?”

“C’mon, Sam,” Steve protests, sounding faintly embarrassed.

Bucky nods, for lack of something to say in return. What was he supposed to say? He turns to look at Steve again, and sees that his cheeks are red.

“Now, what can I get you boys?”

A while later Bucky’s sipping his bourbon whiskey in a booth with Steve. Much as he wanted to skip past the whole _going for a drink_ partand go straight to the _see where it goes from there_ part earlier he’s glad he agreed. It feels nice, being able to be with Steve in public without trying to stop himself from slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders while Steve sits pressed up against him, or from stealing a kiss when he feels like it because God knows now that he’s had a taste he can’t hold back anymore.

“I’m glad we came here,” Bucky says.

“You are, huh? Someone seemed to be in a bit of a hurry for something else earlier,” Steve ribs playfully.

“Still am, if I’m being honest,” Bucky says, leaning down to press a kiss onto the juncture between Steve’s neck and shoulder. He picks up his glass from the table, takes a long pull of whiskey.

“Tell me something, Bucky,” Steve says abruptly, turning around to face Bucky.

“Hmm?” Bucky hums absently.

Then Steve shoves him back against the seat, and straddles him so he’s sitting on his lap. “What were you were thinking of, that evening we went to the diner? Tell me what got you so hot ‘n bothered all of a sudden.”

Bucky can’t help but wince a little. “I wasn’t, uh, hiding it all that well, was I?”

Steve laughs. “No, not really.”

Bucky considers Steve for a few moments.

“Well, I was thinking,” Bucky begins, and lust surges in him as he recalls exactly what he was thinking that night. Emboldened, he places his hands on Steve’s hips and pulls him forward so Steve’s crotch is against his. Steve lets out a little groan at the press of Bucky’s hard cock through their clothes, and Bucky can see he’s blushing.

“I was thinking I liked the way you looked in my jacket,” he moves his hand up Steve’s waist, grazing over his ribs. “And then I was thinking maybe I’d like to see you without clothes on too,” he strokes a thumb over a nipple through the fabric of Steve’s shirt. Steve moans. His head tips backwards, eyes closed and long eyelashes resting over flushed cheekbones. He’s rolling his hips into Bucky’s, settling into a slow grind. “And I was thinking of fucking you over my bike, how pretty you’d look for me.”

Steve tenses up a little, and for a fleeting moment Bucky thinks he’s gone too far. Then Steve lets out a breathy “fuck”, and his hips start rutting faster, more desperately. Bucky suddenly finds himself trying not to shoot his load in his pants.

Bucky places his hand on Steve’s ass. “You gonna let me have some?” he asks, voice low and heated. Steve nods, biting his lip. “Let me take you home, huh?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. 

——

They’re at Steve’s tenement, and Bucky crowds Steve up against the door once it’s closed. He kisses Steve deeply, reaching a hand to Steve’s crotch. Steve groans. “Please, Bucky.”

“What do you want?” Bucky asks.

“Touch me?” Steve asks, pushing his hips into the cup of Bucky’s palm.

Bucky unbuckles Steve’s belt, hands shaking just a little bit. He takes in the sight of the outline of Steve’s cock through his boxers, and can’t help but give in to the temptation to sink to his knees. He presses his lips over the head, suckling and lapping until the fabric’s wet and he tastes a faint saltiness where pre-come had seeped through it. Steve’s head falls back against the door as he arches into Bucky’s touch.

“Can you – I want you to fuck me,” Steve says softly.

 _Jesus_. Bucky can’t even think straight. He’s heard of guys fucking guys, and he’s done stuff, but never... never this. God.

But he wants to. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, fuck,” he breathes, leaning against Steve’s hip.

They move to Steve’s bed, shucking off their clothes. Steve’s lying on his back with his knees bent, his heavy cock resting against his stomach as he guides Bucky through prepping him.

Bucky eases a Vaseline-slick finger into Steve, and Steve groans, bucking his hips up. “How’s it feel?”

“Real good,” Steve murmurs. “Gimme another.”

Bucky slicks up another finger and pushes two in.

“Try–” Steve cuts off with a moan as Bucky’s fingers slide all the way in.

“Try what?” Bucky asks. “Tell me how you want it, c’mon.”

“Try – try crooking your fingers.” Bucky does, and after a moment he hits a spot that makes Steve writhe and clutch the sheets. “Yeah, fuck, right there.”

Pre-come beads at the tip of Steve’s cock and pools at his navel, and Bucky’s own cock twitches at the sight of it. He begins to thrust his fingers in and out gently, and his other hand strokes over Steve’s hip, his ribs, anywhere he can touch. Steve’s ass is so hot and tight around his fingers, he can hardly imagine how it’d feel around his cock.

As if reading his mind, Steve lets out a shuddering breath, and says, “ ’m ready. Fuck me.”

Bucky pulls his fingers out, and spreads Vaseline on his cock. Steve slings his calf over Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky lines himself up, head of his cock nudging at Steve’s hole.

Then he remembers something. “Wait, Steve.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve says, propping himself up on his elbows and looking a bit concerned. “You know, it’s fine if you don’t–”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Bucky interrupts. “But I wanna ask you something first.”

“God help me,” Steve declares dramatically, falling back on the mattress and closing his eyes. “I’m going to die here.” He reaches a hand to his flushed cock, but Bucky catches his wrist before he can touch himself. “Oh, come on,” Steve whines.

“No touching,” Bucky scolds. “Anyway, I wanted to ask, um,” he pauses, then, nervous. He takes a breath. “What you said, just now at the bar, to Sam. About me, um. About me maybe being your fella.”

Steve opens his eyes and squints at him, looking slightly apprehensive, like he doesn’t know what to expect. Bucky presses on stubbornly, half because he thinks he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t, and half because he’s afraid of Steve answering before he’s done asking. “Did you mean it? I mean, uh. Suppose I were to, um. Ask you to be my... to be mine, would you say yes?”

A slow smile spreads across Steve’s face. “Seriously?”

Bucky blushes, self-conscious. “What?”

“You’ve had your literal fingers in my ass, and you’re asking me that now.”

Bucky’s blush deepens. “Shut up and answer the question, Steve.” He pokes Steve in the ribs. Steve swats him on the shoulder in retaliation.

“You know I can’t _both_ shut up _and_ answer your question, right,” Steve retorts smartly like the mouthy punk he is. Bucky doesn’t say anything in return, just raises his eyebrows expectantly. Steve stares back stubbornly, all challenging.

Then Bucky’s lips quirk up at the side as he gets an idea. He shuffles closer, rubbing the head of his slick cock against Steve again. He trails a teasing finger up the underside of Steve’s cock and watches as more pre-come dribbles out and pools at his stomach.

Steve’s breath hitches. “No fair,” he protests weakly.

“I ain’t lookin’ to play fair.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Fuck,” Steve gives in. “Yes. I would. Are you happy now?”

Bucky grins, relieved and fucking happy. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then pushes his cock into Steve’s tight ass with a grunt.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve sighs.

Bucky rolls his hips experimentally, and bites back a choked sound. “You doin’ okay?” Bucky pants, willing himself to keep still.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice barely above a whisper, “fuck me. Please.”

Bucky complies. He starts to thrust, settling into a rhythm, and Steve lets out little gasps and curses, muttering encouragement.

“You feel real good, Steve.”

“I fuckin’ better,” Steve snipes, lifting up to meet Bucky’s thrusts. Bucky leans down to kiss him, taking Steve’s lower lip between his like he loves, sucking and biting gently.

Bucky can feel familiar heat building in his groin, and he takes Steve’s cock in his hand, jerking him off in time to his thrusts. In response Steve lets out a long, low moan that drives Bucky insane.

After a while he feels Steve tense up, and seconds later Steve comes over his fingers, warm and messy, with a strangled noise.

It’s the most erotic thing Bucky’s ever seen. He bites his lip, starts to snap his hips forward more desperately, and his orgasm crests over him as he spills into Steve.

“Fuck,” Bucky says emphatically as he pulls out, dropping onto the tiny mattress next to Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He turns and throws an arm over Bucky’s torso, pressing his face into Bucky’s collarbone, and Bucky’s pretty sure his heart melts into a puddle of goo.

They lie like this, sated, in comfortable silence for a few minutes, then Bucky breaks it. “Did you mean it? What you said just now? You didn’t just say it, because, y’know. Heat of the moment, or anythin’ of the sort.” He can’t help it, he has to make sure.

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky Barnes,” Steve groans into Bucky’s skin, exasperated. “Yes, I meant it, you lunkhead. ‘m yours. You just fucked me within an inch of my life and I’m cuddling you right now. Does that not tell you anything?”

“Wanted to be sure, s’all,” Bucky mumbles. He’s sure Steve could hear his heartbeat quicken when he said “I’m yours” all casual, but to hell with it. Steve’s _his_. He can’t believe it.

“If you wanted to be sure so bad you coulda just asked when you weren’t about to fuck me in the ass, instead of being a tease,” Steve gripes, pinching Bucky in the side. Bucky yelps.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he says cheekily, kissing the top of Steve’s head.

“You’re a right jerk, Barnes.”

“Yeah, but I’m your jerk,” Bucky says, like some sappy lovesick idiot.

Steve doesn’t call him out on it, though. Instead, he says, “And don’t you forget it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand that’s the end !! thank you for sticking with me, i really appreciate it :’) this is my first work on ao3 and also the first piece of fiction i’ve written ever, so it makes me rlyrly happy to see that some people actually liked it ? i know i have tons to learn and improve on as a writer, but i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it !!
> 
> really didn’t expect this final chapter to be as long as it was but there was so much i wanted to include! thought of splitting it up into two chapters but in the end i was like nah so here we have one long juicy chapter i hope u don’t mind yikes. 
> 
> also the bartender was gonna be an oc but then i was like thinking of potential marvel characters that could fit the role and the moment i thought of sam i knew i had to do it. 
> 
> i’m gonna stop rambling now, so once again, thank u for reading !! more fics to come, possibly. maybe. We Will See. bye!! :)


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